


♢ ♘The English Marauders and the Runaway Brides ♢ ♞| BOOK ONE

by beatles_salad



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Action, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Frequent updates, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, Runaway Brides, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Vague Historical Accuracy, Violence, kidnapping and hostaging, late 19th century, will they wont they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatles_salad/pseuds/beatles_salad
Summary: ♚There are two runaway brides (as well as siblings) by the names of John and George Epstein who are set to marry noblemen Dyson Higgins and Bruce Newman. The brothers originated from Liverpool but seem to have made their way towards a hideaway in London. It is imperative that they are retrieved and brought back to the address listed below as soon as possible. Try to handle them gently and ensure no unnecessary injuries are brought upon their forms.♚____________Richard and his band of marauders are tasked with searching for runaway brides, a seemingly simple duty on the surface, but brings forth conflict none of them could prepare for...
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	♢ ♘The English Marauders and the Runaway Brides ♢ ♞| BOOK ONE

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi everyone! i hope you are having a nice day! this is my first fic on this account to do with the beatles. while they seem to grow over time, the amount of fics present here where john is the 'bottom' to paul's top is disappointingly meager! i wish to read more, and ive also been intrugued by beatles being badass, in a victorian setting so i wrote this. i hope you all enjoy my little story! comment if you would like to see more <3333
> 
> there is no homophobia here, obviously. sorry if that bothers you?

♘♘♘

  
  
  
  
  
  


One would have a general aversion to pondering the inconsistent relationship between the English government and the marauders that inhabit the land when they’re having an unpleasant day, Richard Starkey assumed. Trying to make sense of the convoluted arrangement was sure to bestow a headache to one already stressed. Not too long ago were the heads of every marauder demanded to stand on the stakes of the Queen’s fence, and now Richard was expected to fulfil the royal family’s petty chores. The back and forth was dizzying and worthy of a riot. _Just pick a side already and stop messin’ with me brain!_ Richard wanted to say. But he knew his concerns meant nothing compared to the ample inconveniences of the Queen, inconveniences that he was expected to handle. _Oh well,_ Richard thought as he put out the bud of his cigar against the cold, asymmetrical stones, at least the tasks paid well. He was now able to feed his men and keep most of them under the same lodgings. Not _all_ of them, of course. Having twelve sweaty, rugged men living under the same roof was a sure recipe for a respectable abode to begrime itself with man meat and man filth. And while Richard could afford more than he could before, he wasn’t willing to pay the price for a scullery maid or any worker for that matter to help around the house. Not that anyone would be _willing_ to work for a load of marauders anyroad.

Richard and his crew were due another mission soon. At least that was Richard’s safe assumption based on the lull between their last task and their current one, whatever it could be.

Richard didn’t have to dwell on it much longer, for the cabin’s main door slammed open in the chase of muffled shouts, signalling the marauders’ entrance. He entered the cabin from where he stood outside to join the commotion from the inside. The warmth within, granted by the lit lanterns and deep wood of the furniture, was always a welcoming sight to Richard but juxtaposed conflictingly to the rowdy men whose voices echoed in the well-acoustic building provided by the high ceiling. The cacophony was still familiar enough to bring forth comfort.

Richard made his way through the spacious living room, tossing limp greetings to the ways of the men who flung salutations at his. His eyes were zeroing on the one he sought after, a tall, slender man with light brown hair and a sharp face. Fortunately, the man was looking for him as well and helped Richard in his journey by weaving his way through the bumbling crowd of men. Richard knew that they were out drinking, and didn’t find shock in that fact but exactly how _much_ they’ve been drinking. Richard’s knowing eyes darted down to the large flagon in his companion’s hand.

“Don’t worry, we saved ye some lager.” Spoke George Martin as he nudged his elbow with Richard’s.

“No, I’m good. Ta, though.” Richard gave another look to the huddled men belting a song that Richard couldn’t make out, but it seemed the marauders couldn’t decide on one song or a key, for that matter. He looked back to Martin, a worrying crease settling between his brows. “What was the point of gettin’ them _this_ plastered, George? They won’t be able to tell the difference from their arse and their elbow by the time our next grind rolls ‘round.”

“You don’t have to worry, Rich.” Martin spoke after taking a hefty swing from the flagon. “They’ll be cured of their ailments by tomorrow. I didn’t get them this pissed on purpose, son.”

Just when Richard was about to argue that that wasn’t his point, Martin nudged him again.

“Besides, this mornin’ when you were rattling the walls with your snoring, a letter of a _certain_ task for a _certain_ group of marauders came in.” Martin began to fish a roll of expensive paper from his trousers, and Richard found himself watching the other man’s movements closely. Once the letter was fully extracted, Richard snatched the paper from Martin’s hands.

“I’ll look it over. The- well, the comment about me snorin’ was unnecessary, by the way.” 

Martin nodded with a slight smirk as Richard began to take in the note. It read:

  
  
  
  
  
  


♚

_There are two runaway brides by the names of John and George Epstein who are set to marry noblemen Dyson Higgins and Bruce Newman. The brothers originated from Liverpool but seem to have made their way towards a hideaway in London. They must be retrieved and brought back to the address listed below as soon as possible. Try to handle them gently and ensure no unnecessary injuries are brought upon their forms._

♚

  
  
  
  
  
  


Richard wiped a hand over his brow. “Wow.”

Martin nodded. “I know. Can’t believe how curt their requests are becoming.”

“No, not that, George.” Richard shook his head, his frown deepening. “They must have us confused with bloody bounty hunters. Out of all the petty shit they’ve made us do, this- by far- is the most ridiculous.”

“Er, Rich…-”

“Besides,” Richard began to roll up the letter before shoving it back to Martin. “Those brides are gone. If they aren’t, then, can’t say I care that much about fulfillin’ this quest. I’m not sending my men out to piss in the wind chasing after some brats.”

“But, Richard.” Martin huffed when Richard took the flagon from him and began to wander off. He followed him. “What’s the harm in just doing it? You say it’s a waste of time, and while I sympathize with your frustration, I don’t see how this little task has to be such an issue? I mean, it’s like you said, they’re just a couple of brats.”

Martin ended his mini-speech with a nervous laugh in the hopes of swaying Richard’s point of view on the job. Richard placed himself on the sofa, between two passed out marauders, his face creased in thought. While he was sure his point of view was completely valid, he couldn’t help but value Martin’s points as well. The man never led him wrongly, after all. How hard could it be to track down two kids and bring them to their waiting husbands? There were thirteen marauders against two spoiled boys, surely the hunt couldn’t be that daunting. Besides, the quicker you’re into it, the quicker you’re out of it, a mantra that brought him comfort whenever he was faced with a duty he didn’t feel like fulfilling. Still, as the brutal marauder he was, he knew that there were more formidable assignments he’d done in the past. He looked to the drunk marauders splayed at his feet. Tch. He could probably grab those brides and bring them back himself.

“Fine.”

Martin let out a sigh that sounded too relieved for Richard’s liking. Martin clasped a hand to Richard’s shoulder. “Rich, I’m glad you said that.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Because Malcolm’s been out since this morning attempting to look for anything that could help us.”

“ _What?_ ” Richard shot to his feet. “You said he was out fishin’!”

Martin only had a cheeky shrug to offer as a response. Richard stepped forward to deliver a smack to the man’s head, but before he could, the pounding sound of horse hooves resonated from outside the cabin. Richard knew to not tense up and prep himself for a confrontation since no one knew where they resided, but he stood his ground only slightly, out of habit. Martin smirked and stood straight.

“Must be Mal. Funny timing, he has.”

Richard stood and followed Martin to the door. It wasn’t too long before the main door rattled with the shake of the doorknob before being kicked open entirely. Martin and Richard jumped back to give Mal more room to enter while the third man carried a squirming body over a broad shoulder. Richard inspected the body with narrowed eyes before widening them.

“Did ye catch one of the brothers already?” Richard asked in astonishment.

“No.” was Mal’s casual response despite the flailing legs kicking out beside him. “Well, yes and no. This _is_ one of the brothers- the eldest, but he isn’t what we’re looking for, but I reckon he could be a lot of help ‘n all.”

Richard nodded as Mal set the bounded male on his unsteady legs before unveiling his attractive and flustered face from the confines of the sack that was over his head. Richard and Martin smirked at the incongruently dressed male in front of him. His well put together outfit only added more structure to the barrier between him and the marauders. He was gagged but had piercing eyes that would have Martin and Richard dead if looks could kill. His hands were tied behind his back but Mal held onto his arms to prevent him from charging at anyone, an assumption Richard thought was safe to make based on the feisty nature of the man.

“Where’d you find him?” Richard asked, taking a step closer, his proximity making the captured male inadvertently shrink into Mal.

“Just outside of Cambridgeshire. Can ye believe that? This little fucker didn’t make it that far out there.”

“If he isn’t John or George, then what’s his name?” Martin asked. He turned to Richard to briefly remark. “If he was just outside of Cambridgeshire, then the other two can’t be that far.”

Richard shook his head in agreement. A ball of relief unfurled itself in his stomach as he felt closer to completion than ever. Funny how driven he felt to complete such a petty task. He couldn’t help it. Ever since Martin told him of their duty, a bad feeling buried itself within him, and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Perhaps it had something to do with the variance of the assignment at hand, but that was something Richard didn’t feel the need to fret too much on anymore seeing how close he felt to the finish line.

“I dunno.” Mal shrugged. “Can’t say I got his name yet.” an impish grin adorned his face as he lifted a hand to remove the victim’s gag. Mal removed the cloth with the help of the man’s shaking head and soon the fabric was gone. The marauders watched as the man panted and adjusted the cramp he without a doubt had set in his jaw.

“Thank you.” the man nodded at Mal before turning towards Martin and Richard. “Look, if you _must_ know, my name is Brian. But I will warn you that capturing me was a fruitless venture as I refuse to disclose my brothers’ whereabouts. You will just have to- _mhmm!_ ”

Mal was quick to tie the cloth back over Brian’s mouth, annoyed. Richard and Martin expelled disappointed but expected sighs before Richard snapped his fingers and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

“Take him upstairs and we’ll figure out what to do with him tomorrow.” Mal nodded and lifted Brian back over his shoulder before carrying the thrashing man upstairs. Richard looked up to Martin to speak but stopped to observe the way Martin’s eyes were following Mal and Brian upstairs. He cleared his throat which made the taller man jump and turn back to him. 

“Wha…”

“You and I are setting out tomorrow mornin’. So rest up.” Richard said as he made his way through the living room, towards his own bedroom. An interruption from Martin made him pause.

“Erm...Richard?”

“Yeah?” Richard responded, looking over his shoulder.

“I was, er, actually wondering if it would be best if we enlisted the help of an extra hand? An old friend perhaps-”

“No.” was Richard’s curt answer. “Go to sleep, George.” Richard didn’t linger to hear Martin’s response and retreated to his room. He couldn’t believe the gall Martin had to muster in order to suggest such a thing. That would have to be something he brings up to the man tomorrow, for Richard’s drowsiness was starting to make itself known. Richard switched off the lantern and climbed into bed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Two Days Later

  
  
  
  


The rattling of the moving train across the bumpy tracks, while aggravating to most, was enough to lull Paul McCartney in and out of a light slumber. The young man was crossed between letting the train tracks engulf him in proper rest and letting the excitement keep him awake. While his judicial studies in America were exciting (Paul was already planning his next trip), he couldn’t wait to return home. Good ol’ Liddypool. With his excitement came the difficulty of gaining proper rest, but he didn’t see the need in worrying about that seeing just how close he was to arriving home. 

His eyes flew open when the train halted, and a tiny grin danced across his lips.

Home at last never felt better than it did then.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The first thing Paul did upon arriving home was eagerly pet his sheepdog, Martha, who was probably more eager than he was. His black stallion, Michelle, danced enthusiastically around in her stable when she caught sight of him, but Paul would deal with her later. His mind wouldn’t stray from going inside.

Paul knocked sharply on the familiar smooth wood and adjusted his luggage in his hands. A swarm of hummingbirds fluttered happily in his chest, and Paul found it nearly impossible to keep his feet from shuffling in their place. His habit of fidgeting due to his overactive nerves was often something he was reprimanded for in his youth, but was now too old for anyone to say anything about. 

It felt as though it would take ages for anyone to answer the door, but when it finally opened, the smile on Paul’s face morphed into an enthusiastic beam. His quivering lips fell open to sigh.

“Da…”

His father, Jim, smiled warmly at him before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Come in, son.”

Jim must have been anticipating his arrival, judging by the hot tea and biscuits the man had set out for the both of them. Paul thanked him and sat himself at the table across from his father. They sat in comfortable silence, nursing their teas until it grew awkward. He felt a blush form at his cheeks as he remembered how excited he was to see his father, yet _this_ was the way they decided to behave around each other. He was so absorbed in his anticipation that he forgot how tense their relationship was. Paul spoke up once a realisation (thankfully) twinkled in his head.

“Where’s Mike?”

“You just missed him, son.” Jim set his tea down and straightened himself in his seat. “He left with his mates, something about one of ‘em getting a new horse, somethin’ like that.”

Another deafening silence until Jim waved his hand at Paul.

‘‘But never mind that. Tell me- how was America?”

Paul hummed as he sipped at his drink. “Nice, very nice. Very American.”

“Cheeky.” Paul laughed as Jim shook his head. “An answer as vague as that has me suspectin’ ya didn’t even go. And knowing you, you probably slinked off to Amsterdam because the names confused you.”

“Thanks, father dear.” Paul rolled his eyes playfully, though there was a dull sting in his gut due to his inability to decipher a joking tone within his father. “But really, America was lively, unlike drab Liverpool. The birds and blokes were even livelier. They-”

“Refrain from going into details, please.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Paul chewed on his thumb and let his eyes drift away from his father’s disapproving eyes. They landed on the table and he mindlessly eyed the open newspaper. He didn’t think anything of it until he noticed how intriguing the front page was. He dropped his hand and leaned forward. 

“Dad. What’s that?”

Jim raised a brow in confusion, but once he figured out what caught Paul’s eye, he made a small sound of realization and lifted the paper. 

“This? Why they’re just a couple of kids Higgins and Newman were looking for.” Jim pushed his glasses up his nose as he observed the illustrations of the boys. “Yes… runaway brides, actually.”

Paul smiled in amusement. “Let me see?” Jim handed Paul the paper, who read the page with raw interest. The idea of these two young men running away from their potential grooms tickled Paul to no end. “Now why would they go and do a thing like that? I wonder where they’re hiding…”

“Never you mind that, my boy.” Jim took the paper back from Paul. “Those unruly bandits were assigned to look for them.”

Paul’s eyes snapped towards Jim, who was eyeing him closely over the rims of his spectacles. Paul knew that look. He was more than familiar with it. That look was the gaze his father bestowed upon him whenever he was testing Paul. If Jim wanted to ensure that Paul was truly a changed man, he often tempted him with trigger words to elicit a reaction that would prove any suspicion Jim had that Paul was still involved with his despicable activities. Paul narrowed his eyes.

“Right...well,” Paul stood from his seat after setting his tea aside. He resisted the urge to smile when Jim’s expression contorted into one of confusion. “I’ll be out, dad.”

“Out?” Jim rose to his feet. “Why- I- You just _got_ here.”

“I know.” Paul walked to the front door and grabbed his coat. “And now I’m leaving.”

Paul knew that his father was too prideful to insist that he stay and used that to his advantage to have an uninterrupted leave. He didn’t bother telling his dad that he would be using the carriage to go to his favorite pub. Not only was Paul craving a drink, but he felt compelled to be spiteful towards his father and his being convinced that Paul was still up to his dastardly hobbies. Paul gave Martha a soothing rub on her scruffy head before helping her into the carriage.

“Good girl.” He whispered before climbing into the seat and taking off, Michelle happy to finally be going somewhere with Paul.

He smiled charmingly at the passing citizens of Liverpool, especially the individuals that caught his eye. His mind went back to the newspaper and the runaway brides, and couldn’t help but feel like his observation of the article was a sign, or encouragement to make like them and flee from the confines of traditional living. Well, he couldn’t decide if the article was encouraging him to be free or resort back to his previous ways of raiding with those rambunctious men. Which in a way was freeing as well. America was fun, Paul didn’t lie about that, but he didn’t want to become a stuffy student. He didn’t want to morph into his father. 

The familiar building of ‘Rocky’s’ soon came into view, and Paul felt in his element. The pub was located in a remote part of town that was known for it’s dangerous environment, so Paul stopped the carriage in a small area dense with trees to make sure nothing happened to Michelle and Martha. The dog whimpered upon noticing Paul leaving in which Paul responded by rubbing her head sympathetically.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be just a mo’.”

“Talking to animals, are you?”

Paul gasped and whipped his body around in preparation for a fight, but when all he saw was the familiar face of blue eyes and a form of a shorter stature than his own, he relaxed. But only slightly.

“Oh. Hullo, Rich.”

“Paul.”

Martha barked happily at the new presence, and Paul shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “What are…” a nervous chuckle. “What’re ye doin’ back here?”

“Thought I’d take a piss. But I think there’s enough waste here.”

Paul’s lips parted slightly, his face going pale as he looked at Richard with wide eyes. He was about to attempt a comeback of his own when Richard bursted into sudden peals of laughter. 

“I’m just jokin’ with ya, kid. God, had America made ye stiff? Come ‘ead.”

Paul released a laugh of his own, only more breathy and well- stiff. He forgot he told the man about his trip to America before he left. “Ah, okay.” He followed Richard and noticed they were making their way towards Rocky’s. “Haven’t been here in some time. The pubs in America just don’t compete.”

Richard snorted. “Drinks that bad?”

“The drinks were alright, but the people were too…they were just very...” Paul waved his hand around vaguely.

Richard raised a brow at him. “What was wrong with them?”

“Very American.”

The two men chuckled amongst each other, this time Paul’s laughter was genuine, as they made their way into the quaint pub. Once they entered, Paul breathed in the scent of beer and sweat. He never felt more at home than he did then. The atmosphere was the epitome of pandemonium with the huddles of people chanting drinking songs to encourage whoever felt like chugging some lager. People were sitting in each other’s laps while some couples were even being dragged upstairs to do god knows what as laughter filled the air. There was a table turned over in the corner and Paul only hoped that it wasn’t an accident. His observation of the beloved bar was put at pause when Richard clamped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm shake before reeling him further into the pub. Paul allowed himself to be guided to a table where even more familiar faces sat. 

“Why if it isn’t the Liverpudlian bull back from his prowl!” A very drunk George Martin declared as he stood, the other marauders cheering from the rounded table. 

Paul chuckled and raised his hands to deflect the men’s enthusiasm. “Settle down now, lads. It’s jus’ me.”

“Just _you?_ ” Martin slinked up to Paul and wrapped his arms around his chest. “Where’d ye even go, Paulie…” Martin slurred and reached up to cup his jaw. “Went to Paris? Met a couple broads? Blokes?”

The men whooped, backing Martin up as they were curious as well. Paul gulped. There was no way he would be telling the lads what he was actually doing in America, lest he wanted to get mocked for months. Paul shoved Martin’s hand away from his face. 

“I went to America, remember?” He chuckled and looked at Richard. “Remember? I’ve always wanted to go.”

Richard shrugged and disappeared off into the crowd, possibly to grab a drink at the bar. Paul frowned at him. Richard was a hard man to read. 

“Oh yeah? American, now?” Martin asked before squeezing himself into a seat between Mal and another Marauder. Paul went to answer but halted his train of thought when he noticed a man sitting in Mal’s lap. He didn’t recognize the face (unless, he didn’t _think_ he did), but ultimately he had a few questions about the man’s state. His wrists were tied tightly in his lap and he had a thin white cloth wrapped around his distressed face, gagged.While he was genuinely interested in the man’s presence, he was also thankful to have found something that could guide the men’s attention from his trip onto something else. 

A huff of a laugh left Paul’s mouth as he leaned against the table and pointed at the man. “What have we here?”

Mal beamed smugly, as though he was just waiting for someone to ask that question. He gripped the man’s waist and adjusted him in his lap, much to the captive man’s displeasure, who squirmed angrily in his grasp. “This is Brian Epstein. _Esquire_. Our new house pet.” Mal spoke in a mocking posh accent. “Didn’t want to leave the pup by himself while I’m out having fun, right, Eppy?”

Brian harshly rolled his eyes and grumbled under his gag, his annoyed reaction causing the surrounding men to cackle. Paul snorted and lowered himself into a seat. He paused once more, his brows furrowing.

“Wait...Epstein? As one of the runaway brides from the papers?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard?” Came Richards' voice as he returned with two drinks. Richard sat next to Paul and slid a mug his way. 

“Ta. And yeah, I have. You er...you got one already?”

“Nah.” Richard shook his head. “This is their eldest brother. We reckoned he would eventually tell us where the brides are hidin’.”

Paul raised a brow as he took a sip of his beer. “Don’t think he can help much with a gag in his face, don’t you?”

“Oh. this one bites like a cat, he does.” Mal cupped Brian’s jaw and shook his head. “Don’t you, pet- _OW!”_

Paul didn’t try to cover the boisterous laughter that escaped him, neither did the other men for themselves. Paul even thought he saw Brian’s cheeks fill with a grin of his own. Richard shook his head. 

“You forgot about his feet, mate.”

Mal was fuming from both the pain in his shin and from the embarrassment of having been laughed at by his peers. In a flash, he snarled and lifted Brian off his lap and draped him face down over his legs.

“No one kicks me and fuckin’gets away with it!”

Brian kicked his legs in protest, and was saved by Richard jumping to his feet just as Mal was lifting his arm to deliver his first blow.

“Mal. No unnecessary violence. Remember?”

“That only goes for the brides.” Mal grunted and tried once more to spank Brian.

“Mal.” Richard barked. His rumbling voice was enough to startle Paul for the second time that night. His powerful voice must have been enough to sway Mal against smacking Brian, as Mal’s hand lingered in the air a bit longer before dropping his arm in defeat. He pulled up a panting and red Brian to have him sitting in his lap again.

“You’re lucky he’s here.” He growled in Brian’s ear.

“You are…” Slurred Martin. “Because none of us was gonna stop it.”

The marauders roared in laughter and agreement, and while Paul found what Martin said to be amusing, his mind was more occupied with other things such as his curiosity, and maybe even a twinge of disappointment. He turned to face Richard before lowering his voice.

“So this is what you lot do now? You go and snatch up kids who ran from their parents ‘n all? How charitable of you.”

Richard gave him a funny look, most likely catching onto Paul’s minor jab. He looked to be having an internal battle with himself before finally answering, placing his mug on the table.

“No. Trust me, this request was bizarre to all of us. It’s humiliatin’ as hell to be told ye have to chase after a couple jackanapes who couldn’t just do as they were told and marry a couple of rich blokes.” Richard lifted the glass and sipped tiredly at his drink. “That’s what their parents are for. Not us.”

Paul rested his head in his hand, nodding understandingly. “Hm. I see...And er, how long have you been on the hunt?”

“Couple days. But to be completely honest with you, I haven’t been tryin’ to find either of ‘em. But lemme tell ya the first thing I’m gonna do the moment I get my hands on one of those brats is smack them right on the rear.”

Paul’s hand flew up to stop himself from giggling out his beer. “I thought you weren’t allowed to be unnecessarily violent towards them.”

“Oh, it’s very necessary, son.”

The two men giggled like school children and that’s when Paul realized in full just how much he missed that lifestyle. He spared a glance at the boisterous marauders. Maybe he should finally say aloud what was eating away at him the entire night.

“So erm...I was just wonderin’ if...y’know, like- Christ, how do I put this?”

“I know what you’re going to ask, Paul. And the answer is no.”

Paul sputtered. “I- what?”

“You left us high and dry without so much as a ‘see ya’, or did you conveniently forget?” Richard answered. “And you may have fooled the rest of these dolts, but don’t think for a second that you’ve got me. I know you went to America to pursue your twatty schoolboy studies.”

“But I didn’t want to do all that shit!” Richard shushed him. “Okay, okay. But it was all me Da’s idea, y’know?”

“It was a shame.” Richard sighed, running his fingers around his rim of his glass while he scratched his beard. “You were by far the fastest and sharpest we’ve ever had.”

“I-“ A smirk danced at Paul’s lips. “I was?”

“I would finish defending myself, if I were you.”

“Oh. Oh! Erm…” Paul squirmed in his seat. “I don’t...I don’t know what else to say, though.”

“Then don’t speak.” 

Paul frowned. “But I thought you…”

“I change me mind.” Richard stood and grabbed his and Paul’s cup. “Your words can’t show how much you deserve to have your place with us back, can’t it?”

“I…”

But Richard had left. Paul turned back around with a huff. Why was Richard such an enigma? Paul couldn’t help but feel jealous of the relationship Martin had with Richard, as he was someone Richard disclosed much more to. But really, what did Richard mean by Paul’s words not being able to convey how much Paul wanted to come back? Was Paul allowed to reunite with them, and was on probation?

Paul’s answer to his question would be answered sooner than he’d be able to handle. 

Paul decided against drinking himself into a stupor as the night went on but left at the same time as the others. He watched, enthralled, as Brian was roughly lifted and carried out of the bar, kicking fruitlessly while the others laughed. Paul couldn’t help but wonder what it must have been like in the captive’s position, and decided that Brian must have been miserable to be snatched from whatever cozy abode he came from to now live a life, tied and gagged, amongst the crude marauders. Though the ruffian side of him found enjoyment in seeing the posh man get manhandled by his mates, he couldn’t dismiss the slight guilt he felt towards the poor noble.

Once they were outside, Mal ripped the gag off of Brian, who immediately began to shriek at the barbaric bandit. 

“I can _walk_ on my own! Put me down!” 

“I don’t think I will. Not ‘til you tell us where those brides are hidin’.” Mal said as he adjusted Brian in his arms until he was carrying him bridal style. 

“No!”

“Well.” Mal unceremoniously pulled Brian’s gag back over his mouth and went to place him in the back of his own carriage. Paul stepped forward. 

“I can take him off your hands, Mal.”

Mal gave him a surprised look, whilst Brian sent a glare his way. Paul shrugged loosely and held out his arms expectantly, taking another step closer. Mal appeared to ruminate on Paul’s offer for a while, but must have been for it by the way he began to walk forward. Brian looked too tired to put up a fuss and only wore a defeated expression as he was taken into Paul’s arms. 

“He’s fun n’ all, but a right pain in the arse.” Were Mal’s parting words before he climbed into his carriage and took off. 

“Is that true?” Paul asked Brian softly as he carried him to his horse. Brian appeared confused at the way Paul was hoisting him into his lap after climbing into the seat of his buggy. Paul smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you get jostled around back there. Me dog’s back there, anyways. Besides, I like you better in my lap.”

Brian let out a muffled whimper when Paul set his horse off down the road, nearly sending Brian sliding off Paul’s leg. He knew the direction. Couldn’t forget it. He chuckled and adjusted Brian in his lap. “I got ye, I got ye.”

An idea oozed into the crevices of Paul’s psyche, causing him to frown at his own intentions and unconventional approach to conflict. Maybe what he was about to attempt would get him nowhere, but most importantly, nothing could come out of it. Nothing dangerous, at least.

“Er, hey.” Paul reached up to remove the gag from Brian’s lips who, to Paul’s relief, didn’t swear at him or try to scream. “Are you ever gonna tell us where your brothers are?”

“No! Why would I do something like that?” Brian snapped.

“Watch it. I was just asking you a question.”

“A rather idiotic one, at that.”

“Are all the Eptseins as sassy as you are?”

“Only to abominable marauders who kidnap people from their homes!” Brian delivered a sharp kick to Paul's shin.

“WHOA!” Paul’s outburst confused Michelle, who neighed and stopped her trotting. The sudden halt nearly had both Brian _and_ Paul spilling from the buggy, but Paul made sure to steady himself whilst holding on tightly to Brian, Martha barking in fear. He hissed. “God, you really are a pain in the arse. You nearly got us killed!”

“Just let me go!”

“Oh I would love to, darling. But we’ve got a task to complete.” Paul said before shouting to order Michelle back into her trot. Brian grunted as he attempted to undo the tight knot around his wrists, twisting his hands uselessly. Paul rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not gonna hurt ye. Not _you_. Just hope that I don’t get my hands on any of your brothers.”

Brian stilled, his face going red. “What does that mean?!”

“A McCartney always gets his revenge. Always. Is what it means.” Paul said lowly, leaning his face close to Brian’s, his nose brushing against the man’ dark hair.

“I...What-“

“What are your brothers like anyways?” Said Paul casually as he pulled away from Brian. “George and...Joseph right?”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Well,” Paul chuckled. “We’ll see about that. I saw their photos in the papers, y’know. Quite lookers, they are. If I was gettin’ married to one of ‘em and they took off, I would do everything I could to get them back too. Not that...they’d be running from me in the first place.”

Paul laughed to himself, nearly missing the way Brian scoffed. 

“What?”

“You’re just so unbearable.” Brian groaned, his head falling backwards in agitation. “Insufferable. My brothers would not be interested in you, anyways.”

“What?” Paul pulled Brian further up his legs, intrigued. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re too young.”

“That it?”

“And annoying. And ignorant. And arrogant as all get out.”

“Ouch.”

“And no one likes an arrogant fool.”

“Well, maybe you should teach me, Eppy.” Paul cooed, pulling Brian even closer. “Take me under your wing…”

Brian jerked away from him. “I’m not your mother! If you truly want to be a better person, then you’ll start by letting me go!”

“I _do_ wonder, y’know,” Paul ignored him. “Which one of your brothers would fancy me most. The youngest perhaps? Or...the other one. James?”

“Neither! I can assure you that they’ll want nothing to do with someone of such character. _Especially_ John-“

“Ah, so it’s John. Not Joseph.”

Brian swore under his breath and looked away as scarlet rose to the surface of his cheeks. Paul gently nudged his chin with his knuckles. 

“You embarrassed?”

Brian scoffed and prudely lifted his nose into the air. “If anyone should be embarrassed it’s you. Tch. It’s your job to retrieve these brides, and you can’t even remember their names.”

Paul scowled. He opened his mouth but found himself unable to respond, so opted on pulling up Brian’s gag over his face.

“Shut up.”

They traveled through the spacious woods, and it didn’t take long until Brian was attempting to squirm out of Paul’s lap again, grunting and kicking against the stronger boy in an attempt to escape. The struggling persisted (and even got worse) when the large cabin came into view. Paul had a moment where he allowed himself to admire the structure and beauty of a place he never got to call home. The interior illuminated from the outside a golden light that beckoned anyone near with his homely glow. 

Paul was yanked from his admiration when Brian suddenly made another attempt to kick out from Paul’s hold. 

Well, _almost_ anyone. 

Paul dismounted the buggy with Brian still trashing in his arms.

“Stop! There’s no use for all tha’! You’re mine now!”

Paul slung Brian over his shoulder and marched towards the cabin, Martha hopping from the buggy and bounding at his heels. It appeared that most of the men were outside sharing a laugh and a smoke, and they boisterously greeted Paul and Brian who continued to struggle in his hold. One of the marauders, whom Paul recognized as Neil, held the door open for him. 

“For you, macca.”

“Thanks, Neil.” Paul nodded at him and entered the cabin. Just as Paul expected, the main room was empty save for Richard, Martin, and Mal, who were gathering their rope, knives, and other equipment used on their raids. Upon seeing him, Mal and Martin greeted him with smiles, while Richard continued gathering his rope. 

_Okay, Richard._

Mal walked forward as Paul let Brian fall from his place on his shoulder and draped him over the couch, swiftly dodging Brian’s foot when he kicked out. Mal swept in to grasp Brian’s leg.

“You know, I guess a part of me missed this.” Mal grunted as he hefted Brian off the couch and easily slung his over his shoulder as if Brian weighed nothing, which- to Mal, he didn’t. Paul always admired Mal’s strength. He would have to work towards being that strong, he thought as he watched Mal take Brian upstairs before disappearing into one of the rooms. Paul cocked his head and frowned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Get yer mind outta the gutter, son.” Richard said, looping the thick rope around his arms. 

“I wasn’t-! I er...wasn’t thinkin’ anythin’ like that…”

“Don’t you have a father to go home to?” Richard said, passing him. 

“I do.” Paul’s eyes followed Richard who gave Martha an annoyed look as he passed her. “But I figured you lot could use a helping hand, y’know?”

Richard laughed heartily, but Paul could see the cracks in his phony exterior. He turned around to look at Paul’s face. “We don’t need _your_ help, son.”

“But I thought you said I was the sharpest you’ve ever had.”

“And the fastest.” Came Martin’s voice from where he was knelt at the ground and petting Martha. Paul smiled at the man while Richard only glared. Martin paled. “Ah. Sorry mate.”

“No, that too, though.” Said Paul. “It’s been two days and you haven’t got a single clue where those brothers are?”

“I think you should be more focused on your studies, Paul.” Richard growled. “Bringing that Brian home doesn’t mean anythin’ to me.”

“It may not.” Paul walked closer. “But I can prove to you that you need me, more than I need you.”

“How?”

Paul lunged forward and tackled Richard to the ground, giving no warning to Richard of the attack, which left the older man stunned long enough for Paul to seize his wrists above his head swiftly. The victorious feeling that surged through Paul’s chest prematurely lived as Richard bucked his hips upwards and sent Paul toppling off of him, landing on his back with enough impact to punch the air from his lungs. Gasping, Paul weakly fought against Richard who flipped him onto his stomach, pulled back his arms and looped the rope around them tightly with nimble fingers and more dexterity than Paul could imagine. Paul gave up the fight, panting and huffing in exertion and frustration, accepting his new role as the loser of the game he was better off avoiding. 

“Good try, lad.” Richard grunted, his knee digging into Paul’s back. “But you never start a fight with someone who’s more equipped than you. Not unless you’re good at fighting.”

“But I thought I was-“

Paul yelped when he was yanked off the ground and thrown onto the couch. Richard pointed a stern finger at him. 

“Now you stay there.”

Paul huffed again, attempting to pull his hands from the rope. “Where- _fuck_ \- where ye goin’?”

“We’re goin’ ta get those fuckin’ brides.”

“But what about me hands?”

“You’re smart, right? Figure it out.” Richard motioned for Martin to follow him out the door.

“Hey! No, Rich!” Paul’s struggling grew more desperate when Richard walked out into the front yard. “ _What about me ‘ands?!_ ” 

But they left, and Paul was left with that stupid rope tied around his hands. He tried for five minutes straight to loosen to the restraints but it seemed as though the ropes grew tighter around his wrists that were already growing sore. He sighed and slumped against the couch, turning his head towards Martha who occupied herself with chewing happily on a discarded boot. 

“You won’t happen to know how to untie a knot, do ya?”

Martha barked adorably at him before going back to her shoe. 

  
  
  


♞♞♞

Paul awoke with a start, as not only did he not remember falling asleep on the couch (and having a blanket thrown over him), but the loud whoops and hollers from outside were vociferous enough to envelope the inside of the cabin with its sound. Paul blinked away his grogginess and shot up, his brain blaring sirens of alertness all throughout his head. He nearly fell flat on his face as he forgot that his hands were bound behind his back.

“Dammit!” It wasn’t until then did he notice Martha barking amongst the chaos, adding onto the exciting cacophony that stirred Paul into full wakefulness. Mal came fumbling downstairs, blindly turning on lanterns to supply even the slightest light source. 

“Mal! What’s goin’ on? Untie me!”

“Dunno.” Mal gruffed. “What the hell are ye tied for, kid?”

“Just do it!” Paul turned to give Mal access to his arms as he was set free. “What’s goin’ on, Mal?”

“Jesus soddin’ Christ, son, didn’t I just tell ye that I don’t know? Get up.”

Paul shook his sore wrists and stood to his shaking legs with the help of Mal. “Where’s Brian?”

“Upstairs. Don’t worry about him- _God_ all ye do is ask questions- he’s not going anywhere. Now come ‘ead.”

Mal dragged Paul towards the door, but not before roughly shoving a knife into the boy’s hands. Paul resisted the urge to ask what was going on again, but the confusion and desire for preparation was eating away at his gut. The sensation was only made worse when Mal kicked the door open, raising his rifle in prep to fire. Paul’s confusion intensified when he realized he never noticed Mal obtaining a rifle. When did that happen? He looked down at his knife. 

“DON'T shoot! Don’t shoot!” Came a voice Paul quickly recognized to be Martin. 

“George?” Mal lowered his rifle. “What the hell is…”

“We got one, Mal.” Martin jumped off his horse before jogging inside, running past Mal and Paul.

_Got one…?_

“A bride?” Paul asked stupidly. 

Richard’s horse emerged from the thin mist of the night, the other marauders circling the open area of the front yard on their own horses. Paul’s eyes widened.

“I’ll be bloody damned…”

Richard jumped off his horse, and sure enough, the man was holding a boy in his arms, kicking his bare feet in the wind as he thrashed fruitlessly in Richard’s hold. Mal whooped, clapping his hands together thunderously. 

“You reeled in a treat for us, did ye Rich?”

Paul stepped aside to let Richard and the other men in, but not without noticing the glare Richard flung his way, as though to say ‘ _what was that you were saying earlier?’_. Paul buried his hands deep into his trousers.

“One down.” Richard unceremoniously dropped the boy onto the couch. “One more to go.”

“Which one is he, then?” Paul managed to speak.

“John? George? I forget who’s bloody who. But I think he’s the youngest.” 

“You got one, but not the other.” Paul said. 

“I didn’t see anyone else there, Paul. And I didn’t wanna waste time.” Richard captured both of the boy’s ankles in one hand. “Hold yourself still, boy.”

“Fuck you!”

The men _ooo’d_ at the boy’s counter attack, laughing and nudging each other boisterously as they watched Richard wrap the rope around the boy’s legs.

“You kiss your husband with that mouth?” One of them shouted. 

“I wouldn’t mind it if he kissed me!”

“In your dreams, shitface!”

“Oh this one’s got a mouth on him.” Mal stepped forward. “Aren’t ye too young to be usin’ such vile language? How old are ye, anyroad. Fourteen?”

“I’m twenty, prick.”

Richard gripped his jaw tightly. “That’ll be enough outta you, son. Shut up!”

The boy twisted his face in Richard’s grip but to no avail. Paul turned away from them to focus on Martin, who was descending the staircase, dragging a delirious Brian behind him.

“Oh God!” Brian cried, fighting against Martin’s grip to make his way closer to his brother. “What did you...what did you _do_?! George, are you okay!”

“Eppy!” George (now there were two of them) surged with new motivation to fight as he attempted to pull himself from Richard’s grip. “Brian, I’m so sorry! They came out of nowhere and I tried to get away but there was too many of them, and- and-“

“Whoa!” Richard wrapped his arms around George’s waist to hold him back from meeting with his brother. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Let go of me you _twat_! He’s my brother, let me see my brother!”

“Please!” Brian cried as he tried to pull himself from Martin’s persisting grip. “Untie him, I need to see if he’s okay!”

“No!” Martin yanked Brian back.

“ _Why_?!” Came both Brian’s George’s anguished cries.

“Just let them hold each other, or something!” Paul blurted out. The scene was gut wrenching to watch, and he couldn’t fathom the way the marauders were laughing at their sadness. He didn’t back down when the men looked back at him in shock. “I don’t care. What’s _wrong_ with you lot? You’ve had your fun, let them see each other!”

Martin scowled at him, before throwing Brian his way. “You do it then, mama’s boy.”

Paul didn’t hesitate to hurriedly undo Brian’s wrists, who ran for George the moment he was free. Paul only had to untie George’s legs as Brian was quick to pull the rope loose from the boy’s wrists. The embrace they pulled each other in was almost magnetic, but Paul stood back and watched the brothers hugged each other tightly. More like George burying his face in Brian’s chest as the elder sibling whispered sweetly into his dark hair. Paul swore he picked up on Brian whispering ‘ _don't look at them, don’t look at them_ ’ which sent a spear coated in unwanted disgust piercing through his heart. 

“That’s enough of that.” Richard pulled George from Brian as Martin and Mal yanked Brian away, causing the brothers to cry out. Paul threw his arms up in defeat.

“Oh come on!”

“You shut up!” Richard barked as he worked the rope back around George’s wrists. “You should’ve never came back! We aren't running a fruity little daycare, ye bastard!”

“Well I think that you’re all being unnecessarily cruel!” Paul fired back. “You have them, you don’t have to treat them like shit, y’know!”

“Oh I think anyone who’s a waste of my time shouldn’t be rewarded with decent treatment.” Richard hissed, his mouth pressed cruelly against George’s cheek. He pulled away and lifted the miserable boy off the couch. “Fine. Take him upstairs, Malcolm. Him and Brian can share a room, since Saint Paul here can’t handle having his little heart broken.”

Paul stepped forward and held out his arms. “I’ll take him-“

“I said _Malcolm._ ” Richard bit. Paul dropped his arms in defeat, the scowl on his face deepening. 

Mal stepped forward, a limp Brian over one shoulder, and took George from Richard, holding him under one arm before heading upstairs. Paul couldn’t bring himself to find anything admirable about his strength at that moment. 

“Tomorrow, Martin and I are heading off to look for that John, I want the rest of you to stay here and make sure neither of those brothers try and run off, alright?”

The men muttered in agreement before dispersing into their respective directions. Paul wrung out his hands. 

“Rich, I-“

“Paul. You can go home to your Da’. I don’t wanna see your mug ‘round here anymore.”

“What for?!” Paul cried.

“You know _exactly_ what for, you bleedin’ knobhead.” Richard nonchalantly began to remove his leather gloves. “I know you’re dense, but you’re not that thick.”

Paul stared back at him in shock, not knowing what to do with his feet or his words. “I...all because I asked for you all to be decent?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“Well have fun pissin’ in the wind chasin’ after the last bride!” Paul snarled. Richard froze at his words, taken aback by the phrasing unbeknownst to Paul.

Paul whipped around on his feet, whistling for Martha to follow him. He didn’t realize he still had the knife in his hands until he was at the main door. He gripped it in his hand.

“And I’m keeping this, too!” Richard waved him off and that’s when Paul ran out the door, slamming the door behind him. He clambered onto the buggy and took off into the night, Martha happily riding behind him oblivious to her owner’s tension. 

“Mama’s boy…” Paul grumbled to himself. He whipped the reigns, bracing himself as Michelle took flight, her ebony black fur glistening under the light of the ivory moon beneath rippling muscles. “We’ll have to see about that.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments in the constructive nature are completely welcomed and encouraged! or if you just enjoy it, then let me know that as well. it would mean a lot! thank you! this was super fun to write!


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